Insanguinato ' Little words
by Lys de Pluie
Summary: This organization... They know everyone. What you're doing. When. With whom. The worst is that you might know those who work there - welcome in our world ; the world where we bring death. - summary and pairings inside
1. Piccolo

_AN : "Insanguinato" means "Bloody" in Italian.__ I still don't know if I should make this AU this way : Gakuen AU and then 8 years later with a Police AU/something, or 8 years later with flashbacks. Tell me what you think would be better!  
So, a somewhat summary : An organization few people know about, those who do usually end up being silenced. Who works for them? Maybe is it the new pianist at the bar? Maybe the rich guy nobody really knows? That policeman over there? The innocent little sister? The chief of that restaurant? The guy without identity?  
__Later couples should include :  
__Romano/__Spain ; China/Japan ; Switzerland/Liechtenstein ; Austria/Hungary ; America/England ; Poland/Lithuania ; and a VERY healthy dose of crack. I swear._

_C__haracters and genre will concern the latest upped chapter._

_'Piccolo' - Tiny (Italian)  
_

* * *

There were the kids who were never satisfied ; those who always cried, were never content, always annoyed, always had something to reproach, hated everything. Whatever it is, they would go to someone and complain, needing everything to be on their standards and the world to belong to them. Some kids are born difficult, others grow into complicated and unsatisfied figures over the years.

Nobody had ever deigned to think about what category Lovino Vargas belonged to.

Actually, he belonged more to the second group than to the first. Admittedly, he had always been a difficult child, and he wouldn't remember anyway, but there was a time where he was seeking for attention just like every other normal kid of his age. At the beginning, he wanted to play with others and others wanted to play with him too, he wanted to hug and others didn't mind in the slightest, he wanted to laugh and they liked to see him smile.

But when Lovino Vargas was five, his younger brother happened to somehow gain more attention than him. When they were drawing, there wasn't a huge difference in his child's eyes, but adults would usually look at Feliciano's drawing first, cooing about how adorable it was and at how he managed to make so forceful colors with just crayons and did you see how realistic it looked? They would then have a look at Lovino's drawings, but wouldn't praise him the same way, and never say anything more than 'it's adorable Lovino! Did you learn that from your brother?'. He had no idea what that feeling was when it bubbled up inside of him at the time, why he wanted to tear the drawings his brother had done apart, why he just wanted to scream 'Why don't you look at what I do too?', why he wanted to cry and run away ; he didn't know, he didn't understand.

It was the first step to his attitude, and the first time he wondered if he had done something wrong.

The first lonely night he thought about it, Lovino cried.

He would go to his room, paper, crayons and pencils in hand, and lock the door behind him (as he was tall enough to reach the lock). He would then draw, sometimes for hours, running the colorful sticks over the paper in grand concentration, sticking out his tongue at the most difficult parts. His chubby face turned into a pout when he wasn't entirely satisfied, his fingers were getting tainted in red, blue, green, brown, or whatever color he had been using, his long shirt was getting wrinkled and stained as well, his back hurt (since he was drawing on the ground), but worst of all, he didn't feel like he was doing any real existing progress. He would sit there, contemplating his work, and sometimes he even felt proud, and thought that maybe that one time, his parents, his brother, and everyone else, would look at _his_ picture first. Only once! When somebody finally noticed his absence (usually his mother or his brother) and told him that dinner was ready and that everyone was waiting for him, he never said 'I've been in my room for really long and you didn't care', because Lovino was like that back then, he didn't want to hurt people, and answered with what he hoped was a cute 'Yes!' instead. Most of the time, when he had arrived downstairs, they would all act as usual, and sometimes, it even happened to make Lovino forget that bitter feeling inside of him.

One day, he had drawn a picture he was particularly proud of – a house near the sea, with high waves crashing against the cliff and dark clouds in the sky – and wanted to show it to his parents, so that at least the both of them could finally, _finally_ be proud of him. When he went downstairs, with his drawing nervously trembling between his little fingers, he saw them looking in amazement at a painting his little brother had just done. Both their pictures where still the drawings of kids, but it was evident that Feliciano's painting had the technique of those who were destined to become great masters. His, on the contrary, … Was just a kid that had thrown colors together in an attempt to give them a shape and look good. When Lovino silently stepped out of the kitchen the three other members of his family had gathered in, he just as silently made his way back to his room. He wasn't even angry at his brother – his drawing had truly been amazing! - but at himself, because he had lost all this time, because he had been stupid enough to think he could be better at something than his sibling, because he had hoped to be the pride of his parents, and he realized now that they needed nobody but Feliciano for that.

Once he had stepped back into his room, he locked the door, and gave one last look at his drawing : he had been proud of it, he really had! But now, the only thing he could see was his vain attempts at getting recognized for something he obviously was terrible at. He wanted to be an adult already, because adults are always great at what they do! He looked down at the paper and than at the hands holding it, and bitterly noticed how small they were.

He sighed, wiped a menacing tear from his eye before it could hit the floor, lifted the sheet in the air, still in his hands, and tore it in millions of tiny shreds with his still so tiny fingers.

* * *

The second hardest blow in Lovino's young life was when he was announced that his grandfather Dante Vargas, famous painter-musician- and whatever sort of other artistic stuff he did, would come over to their house.

He was seven years old, and Feliciano five.

He knew he was always left in the corner, sulking, when it came to his grandfather. He would never admit even to himself, that he was impressed by the man and the way he lived his life ; so carefree, he was able to just be like he wanted everyday, without worrying about others...! When he had stepped through the front door, Feliciano had ran towards him, been grabbed in a tight hug, and spun in circles enthusiastically. Lovino has just watched them from afar, and didn't move even when his old man had greeted him with his usual "Lovi, come on! Give your grandpa a hug!". He knew why he was here ; he knew he would come over for a very long time now. His parents had been talking about his little brother's ability to almost everyone, proud parents they were, and the eldest Vargas had probably felt the need to stop his current world tour to check on the younger's skills. Lovino had locked himself up in his room again – and event that happened more and more often – in hope not to hear the conversation in the kitchen below, but he still managed to get the main lines. He jumped on his bed, buried his face under the pillows, and started to cry, soaking the fabric.

"_Feliciano's talent is evident!_"

"_You are such a cute and clever little kid, Feli!_"

"_You know what? You should follow me around_."

"_This way you'll become the person your parents can be the proudest of!_"

Everyone had forgotten about Lovino, they probably thought he wouldn't hear them anyway. He had never felt so useless in his whole life, as short as it was.

The last promise he made himself that day was that he would never draw in front of anyone ever again. Nobody would like his drawings anyway.


	2. De achtervolging

_AN : It... It was supposed to be longer... ;_; Anyway, in the end I chose to make it a police AU with flashbacks. Enjoy some policemen introduction though._

_'De achtervolging' - The pursuit (Dutch)  
_

_Word count : 1329_

* * *

Run.

First alley.

Stop. Breathe.

Turn around. Run to the left.

Pant. Another alley.

Stop. Search.

(- -)

He absolutely _hated_ running after the culprits. Why did those bastards always have to go through the alleys that weren't accessible with a car? As if they could outrun _him!_

… Well, maybe they could. And his idiotic colleague was already so damn far away! They honestly couldn't just surrender and say 'okay, yes, I killed him, now lock me in a cell 'til I'm tried'. He had to have been cursed, there was no other possible reasonable explanation for being assigned to the cases of those who happened to be a little more stubborn than the others.

Goddamn, now he had a stitch.

And he didn't even know where his partner had gone.

If Lars had been able to foresee where the police would take him, he would just have continued his medicine studies, and become a general practitioner somewhere in Enschede. Or maybe in Tilburg, then he and his sister could live not too far away from each other, if she ever decided to go back to Belgium. He took a few deep breaths, and shouted a name in the cold winter air that bounced back to his ears in the uninhabited streets. He could see his breath forming little white clouds as he panted, stretched his neck, and examined his options. He could just keep on running, but that would be futile : he didn't know where the culprit was, and if he landed somewhere too far away and his partner needed him, he couldn't do anything. He could stay here and wait, which was also useless, unless they would both appear in front of him, and he doubted that. He could also call for him, or ask for reinforcement.

Lars hated it when he didn't know what to do. It meant that he was ruled by something other than his own willpower (or his sister, not that he would admit that last one) and that he would have to face situations he wasn't used to. It was a lot easier when you could control something. Unfortunately for him, Lars had stopped controlling most of the things that happened in his life when he came to the police.

Damn them all.

After a few other sharp intakes of breath, he calmed himself down and listened to the silent that surrounded him. There were cars further away, he could here the low humming of a machine down that street, maybe a dog running after a cat, the wind blowing through his short hair, a loud scream-

"Shit." He whispered angrily before he started running in the direction he had heard the voice come from. His breaths were visible in the ice-cold air around him again, the wind biting his cheeks and burning his eyes with the same ferocity and savagery an enraged wolf would have when tearing a prey apart.

He had to be fast. You did not joke around with someone accused of having killed eight people.

(- -)

As soon as he noticed Lars wasn't following him anymore, he paused for a split second before deciding that running after that murderer would be better than let him run away. He didn't really consider the pros and cons of following a serial killer _alone ;_ for him, it was really more of a matter of justice and fairness and he was a lucky guy so nothing would happen, yes?

When he arrived next to a dark alley, he suddenly had a bad feeling, but those usually involved the culprits themselves so he stepped in slowly nonetheless. He prepared his gun, firmly took it between his fingers, arms stretched and pointing to the ground not to get his weapon snatched away. From the corner of his eye, he noticed a form moving, and he turned around, pointing the firearm at the person.

He hadn't expected him to find a knife hidden in the middle of a pile of trash, nor that he would try to stab him in the stomach with it.

Fortunately for him, if not particularly brilliant, Antonio was fast and agile. He dodged the blow of the sharp weapon rather easily and grabbed his gun, or at least tried to. It had disappeared out of his hands. This man was not a wanted serial killer for kicks, he really knew how to react in this kind of situations. In a few seconds, Antonio found himself crashed face first against the wall, a hand tightly grabbing his hair when it made his face collide with the hard surface once more. He could feel blood dripping along his lips and come into his mouth already, he was sure his nose was broken, he must have yelled at one point. He still had a reserve gun in the inside of his jacket, but he didn't know how to take it without the man noticing.

He was now thrown to the ground, a sharp kick in his stomach made him scream consciously for the first time. He felt every single blow that was directed towards him, somehow still managed to grab his weapon. But the man was faster, and suffered less. He snatched it away easily, threw himself with all his weight on Antonio while being careful to crash his backbone with his knee, and turned the gun with agility between his fingers.

He had the absent gaze of a madman.

He apparently decided his knife was a better use than the firearm, because he threw it away in the dark alley where it clattered along the cold cobblestone.

A voice broke out at that moment. '**Let him go!**' it screamed, but the man didn't care. In one swift motion, he grabbed Antonio's hair and had him bent in a particularly painful-looking position ; his neck was pulled back, the knife along his throat was pressing against it firmly and Lars managed to identify the slightest hint of blood dripping along the blade, Antonio's back still squashed with the man's knee ; and then again, the Dutchman found himself in a position where he didn't know how to react.

Sacrifice his friend? Let a serial killer who wouldn't stop his macabre business go away? He knew the Spaniard well. A lot of people knew Antonio, he talked a lot and that was usually enough for most people, but Lars_ knew_ him when it came to justice. And the glance he caught, the one of a man who wasn't scared, told him to shoot. Shoot at the man. Forget about him. He. Knew.

But Lars couldn't.

Antonio was annoying, but as he would often put it when he wasn't around, he was 'a good guy'. He didn't deserve to die. There were still lots of drunken nights with Francis and Gilbert and Kai and maybe that Dennis guy he didn't know all that well (but who was a funny drunk) at '_Hungary_' offing. He couldn't, and wouldn't let it end like this.

His hands were trembling the tiniest bit. He thought it was futile to try to impress the man, with his wicked smile and shining blade tightly clutched in his hand, pressing a little harder against the smooth skin of Antonio's neck. He knew he would try to kill him. The situation had a dead end.

Antonio screamed 'SHOOT!', and mechanically, after the madman had pressed so hard that there actually was a gargled syllable that came out of the Spaniard's mouth with the blood he spit, he did as he was told.

The second he did, Lars already regretted it. If the man wasn't dead on-the-spot, Antonio would pay the consequences. He had never been that good at shooting.

Instinctively, Antonio shot his hands up and caught the blade between his fingers so his windpipe would not end up slashed through, regardless of what would happen.

And then, in a second, everything went black, for the both of them.

* * *

_Antonio Fernández Carriedo [24] and Lars Wittezwaan [30] are respectively Spain and the Netherlands. They are both policemen : Lars works for the police for 8 years, Antonio for almost 3.  
I think I would absolutely adore to make a flashback with those two~ Well, comment if you liked. Also. Cliffhanger? Where? :D_


	3. Ein Uhr morgens

_AN : The waiting has come to an end! What will happen to Antonio? Did Lars arrive in time? Did he really kill someone? And who is that new man speaking in a German he doesn't understand? So many things that will get an answer here! (and yes, I'll just shut up now)  
'Ein Uhr morgens' - One a.m. (German)  
Word count : 1693_

* * *

A limp body propelled him to the ground. He didn't take his hands away. The knife cut them deeply, but his throat hadn't been harmed more than that.

Lars ran up to him, tore the body away, and saw no particular wound that could have been inflicted, but the man stared at him with the blank expression of eyes that would never be able to see again, so he guessed it was over.

He sighed in relief, then knelt down and helped his partner get up. They had had a lot of luck this time. He hoped it would always be that way, he had no intention of getting another new partner (it had already been terrible enough when Antonio had popped up). He clapped his mobile phone open, pushed three buttons, and called an ambulance. After having made a rough check-up of his partner's condition, he made another call. He heard the beep echo through the cellphone, and when a sleepy but annoyed voice just had the time to say 'What the...' he had already answered "Five streets away from '_Hungary_', south-east. Where the sirens and all that stuff will be. We need you here, I think I just killed someone."

A grunted "Great..." was all he received before he heard the beeping again. Lars turned around, wiped a bit of blood away from his friend's eye, and smiled. "Everything's fine. He'll be here in ten minutes."

Antonio smiled, as much as he could.

(- -)

Twelve minutes later, Lars was next to the ambulance where his friend was being bandaged and taken care of, when he saw the head of blond hair through the crowd of people that were being asked by the policemen to please go away, if you're no witness, go home. They tended to be a little cranky when they were asked on the place where a crime had just been committed at one in the morning.

"Wait here a few minutes, Toni, I'm gonna check on the victim and all that..."

He hadn't even noticed the nod he got in response. The Dutchman was in the police for about eight years already, and in all those, he had never killed anyone, and he felt absolutely horrible at the thought. He had shot, had hurt, had arrested, hadn't killed. If it weren't for the fact that this man was about to murder his partner, he'd feel bad to the point he'd want to throw up. Sadly, but still fortunately, the wounds the madman had inflicted Antonio were prove enough he acted in self-defense and wasn't the first one to attack. He also had to get a written document from a forensic scientist, which was the reason he had called _him_ in the first place.

He managed to go through the crowd of people by pushing them out of his way. At every protest, he had to say 'sorry, I'm from the police', 'gotta go through' or just 'sorry' when he was feeling tired of all this.

When he had made his way to the person currently kneeling next to the dead man behind the yellow 'keep out' plastic rolls, he knelt down in the same position. Before he could say anything, though, the other stated rather calmly, but still annoyed : "You moved the body.".

"Yes. Next time I'll know and I'll let Toni lying under him until you come over."

"So he was on top of him."

"Yes."

"It wasn't a question." The blond man took a pair of gloves out of his pocket, and turned the body around carefully. "You shot?"

"Yes. Once. I aimed for the heart. I thought his head was even closer to Toni than the heart, that's why I didn't shoot there." He had had the time to think about it. He felt rather proud for being able to think clearly (as much as possible, at least) in a situation like this.

"Hm." Silence filled the space between them once again, where the blond examined the body. There was not a lot he could tell as long he hadn't had him on his table for further analyzes. One thing he knew, though.

"I'm sorry to tell you this, but you didn't kill him." When Lars's head shot up, he quickly added "He's dead. But _you_ didn't kill him."

The Dutchman just looked at him in disbelief. "How can you say that?"

"Look." He moved. "Antonio was lying on the floor like this. Right? There's a bit of blood, it must be from the cuts at his neck." Lars nodded. "Which means our criminal was sitting on him like this..." he positioned himself a little behind the actual place the corpse was originally located, sitting on his knees. "Was he looking at you? I assume he was. Those people are twisted, they love to see all kind of scared and panicked expressions on people's faces." Lars responded this time. "He did look at me. His torso was a bit turned toward me too. I remember because I managed to shoot him easier than I could have if-" "Fact is, the bullet pierced his shoulder, and I'm guessing it's still stuck in there, since I don't see any hole on the other side."

There was another long silence.

"Then how did I-" He was interrupted again. "As I said, you didn't. If you look at the back of his skull, you'll see a mark there. He was shot in the head. From behind. Probably at the same time you pulled the trigger, maybe even one second or so before. I need to make tests though, I'll call the guys from the ballistic over. I'm guessing that since this is a dark alley with a dead-end..." He didn't finish his sentence, but Lars knew. He looked around quickly. If the man was lying there, and had been shot in the head, it meant the person who did actually shoot was located in an angle that allowed them to aim correctly. Which was probably a place located further away and higher.

There was a tall building about two hundred meters away. And two others behind that one.

The other man stood up, yawned, and scratched the back of his neck. "Never thought I'd have to work on my day off. Well. I'll tell Svenja that I'm at the mortuary. You tell those useless guys over there I want that corpse on my table in a quarter of an hour at the most."

"And the guys from the ballistic?"

The man sighed, rubbed his temples "You moved the corpse. Remember? They can make their stuff once I'm done." He paused for a few seconds before he pulled his mobile phone out of his pocket. "I've got to call her now." he pressed a few buttons, and waited. Waited a little more until the sound of someone taking the call could be heard at the end of the line. "Svenja, tut mir Leid dich wecken zu müssen..." Lars turned around at that point, he would only get a headache if he tried to understand anything about the _Schwitzedeutsch_ that was soon to be spoken. He didn't need to try understanding Vash when he decided to switch to speaking that strange German of his. He understood the language well, but there was a difference between _Hochdeutsch_ and when the Swiss decided he didn't want anybody around him to understand what he was saying. A huge difference. And he wanted to check back on Antonio anyway.

But now that he had time to think about it again, he was left wondering : he had shot, but someone else had killed. Was it a personal grudge? Was it an errant righter of wrongs? Another madman? Someone from a secret organization? A policeman? An accident?

He let that last hypothesis burn somewhere in the back of his mind. The shot was precise, the killing rapid. An accident was impossible, and if there was one thing Lars didn't believe in (aside from honest politicians and anything Gilbert-related), it was pure random luck. There were skilled people behind all of this.

He finally arrived and spotted his friend in front of the ambulance, who had gotten the necessary treatments and now had a neck brace, a large band-aid at the cut of his neck, and other bruises he would have to nurse for quite a bit of time now. Antonio smiled when he noticed him, but when he came closer, his smile faltered, and an uncharacteristic frown replaced it. Once they were in front of each other, Antonio murmured, for his throat was a bit sore "What's troubling you?"

Lars didn't respond immediately. His gaze wandered over his friend's injuries, his bandages, his neck, his eyes. Those eyes. Those who said they knew Antonio never looked at those glowing emerald orbs ; you could see a lot when you had a good look at them. He cleared his throat, his friend would know anyway.

"I shot him in the shoulder. Didn't kill him." Antonio stared at him in shock for a few seconds, before his lips started to tremble and parted to let out an almost inaudible "Then how...".

Lars swallowed dryly. If that other person hadn't been, Antonio would have been killed because of his incompetence. He hoped Vash could help him find out who it was, and possibly thank them.

That was when it hit him hard like a brick thrown right in his face : if he had been alone, _completely_ alone, Antonio would be dead right now. A flash of his friend lying down onto the ground, and blood, blood everywhere-

"Are you okay?" the face was now in front of his, and the sudden action snapped him out of his daze. He shook his head. "No, no. I'm alright." He paused again. "That man..." he took a closer look at his friend, noticed how tired he seemed for the first time in months. "He was killed. By someone else. I'd guess the person shot from one of the buildings over there."

Antonio didn't even blink. He was probably thinking about Lars's incompetence, too. Just like his predecessor...

* * *

_Translations :_

_'Svenja, tut mir Leid dich wecken zu müssen' (German) : Svenja, I'm sorry to have to wake you up..._

_The German spoken in Switzerland is known as 'Schwitzedeutsch' in German, which would, basically, just be translated with "Swiss German". It is opposed to high German, or 'Hochdeutsch', which is the one you'd learn at school in Germany or any other country proposing German. There are quite a bit of differences between those two 'dialects' (if you can call them that? I'm not sure)._  
_Dutch and German are a bit similar, when spoken. If you speak one of the two languages fluently, and if you learnt some of the other, you should, I think, understand it pretty easily (as far as learning languages is easy). Lars did study German, but he just can't understand Vash~ If any Dutch people (I know at least one) are reading this, would you tell me if it's easier for you to understand Swiss or high German please? :3_

_Antonio's predecessor, who is Lars's ex-partner, is an OC that will only make memory appearances. He was someone who Lars looked up to but who just left, like that._

_**Vash Zwingli** [27] is the 'local' (or something) forensic scientist. And of course, represents Switzerland._


	4. Lasst mich ruhen!

_AN : Finally! A somewhat longer chapter. It will compensate for the one that will come after this one._  
_The two new characters introduced will stay mysterious for the moment, but you can probably guess who at least one of them is easily. Also, I absolutely love writing Lars. And Antonio. And Vash. I'd never want such a team to work somewhere close to me though, for I'd lose the little sanity I have left._

_Lasst mich ruhen!_ (German) _Let me rest!_

_Word count : 1594_

* * *

He should have known it. Antonio was the kind of person to _not_ listen to what was good for him. Not at all. Here, it involved staring at him for a few seconds, and then run in the direction he had absentmindedly pointed the way of mere seconds before. He was tired of running, damn! Didn't the Spaniard understand that not everybody was as sportive as he was? And what if he'd get into another pinch? He cursed everything from Antonio's exaggerated sense of justice to his sister's influence (who was the main reason he had given the police a shot to begin with) to criminals to his life to God and to everything else that was unfortunate enough to come to his mind.

When Antonio arrived at the first building in record time, he stopped a few seconds to breath and pant heavily. Then, he ran in and towards the elevator, pressing the button next to which was written '8th floor', and waited. Once he arrived, he stormed out, and collided with something... someone who was about a head taller than himself. He looked up, hurriedly muttered 'I'm sorry', and ran past.

"Damn, kid! Can't ya be a little more careful?" The tall man turned around, saw him run off towards the stairs that would lead him to the roof, and looked at the other man behind him. "Hey. Did we remove everythin'?" he asked, concerned, to which the shorter man growled. "Of course. It's not like it's the first time we do that."

The tall man rapidly glanced back at the door, and muttered "Yeah, but ya never know what can happen... D'ya think he'll remember us?"

The shorter decided it was time for the both of them to move, walked pass him, whispered. "You didn't see how determined he was. He almost didn't notice he ran into you, _Vipera_." He spat the name acidly. "We'll be gone before he comes back from the roof." He was about to press the button of the elevator when he noticed the characteristic 'ding' of the engine, and another man, a little taller this time, walking out.

"Excuse me! Have you seen a man, about this tall, with curly hair and-"

The shorter man pointed at the door. "Roof." he said, annoyed.

For a second, Lars thought the person in front of him must have been related to Vash in a way, but Antonio had probably just ran into him, like he happened to do sometimes. Whatever it was, he thought it would be better to leave him alone, and headed for the rooftop, leaving the two other men behind.

"We should leave now." The shorter man walked into the elevator, tugging the other's sleeve so he followed him. With another 'ding', the doors closed.

(- -)

"What do you mean 'you're sure it was here'?"

"Of course! Look, it's very easy to see where we were from here!" Antonio stopped and stared, his hand a little above his eyes as if it could help him see better. "Isn't that Vash? The white and yellow... thing, over there, I mean."

Lars pinched the bridge of his nose while he sighed once more, as he so often did around the younger man. "… I won't tell him you said that." He paused. "Anyway, do you really think someone in their right mind would go on a rooftop two hundred meters away to shoot at somebody who's about to kill a policeman?"

"They might very well _not_ know we were policemen!"

Lars pointed at Antonio. "Okay, let's admit they didn't see or recognize our uniforms. The first part of my question still has no valid answer."

"They didn't have to be normal either!" Antonio added, as if this would be the argument of the century, which, coming from him, wasn't all that much surprising. He was persuaded he was right ! There was a perfect view, and if he knelt down he could have shot very easily with a sniper rifle from where he was.

"And why so far away, then?"

"Well, maybe..." he pondered what he was about to say for a few seconds. "Maybe they didn't want to be found out to fast!" He looked around for whatever clue he could find. "Do you have an idea how long it takes to clean every possible evidence of a crime away?"

Lars sighed. Heavily. He was not going to get home in the next hours, he just knew it. And with all the paperwork that was waiting for him... If he wanted to argue with Antonio now, he would just get a nasty migraine. He didn't need one right now, nor later.

"Okay, you win. So, _if_ he was killed by someone with a sniper rifle on this rooftop, and I said 'if', then they must have been a professional. He was shot in the head, after all."

Antonio nodded.

"So, _if_ he was killed by a professional, they must have known how to clean everything professionally." Antonio stared at him as if his statement had been no help at all. It hadn't. Lars sighed again. "I would guess five to ten minutes, but I honestly have no idea."

"That's at least something. From when he was shot to when the ambulance came, it was about twelve minutes. That's what you told me."

"Yes, if you'd live with Amélie for at least a week, you'd understand why I'm always checking my watch." The Spaniard chuckled. "I trust you. I'm guessing your conversation with Vash lasted three or four minutes, so we'll say it took about a quarter of an hour. The time we needed to run up here might have been about thirty seconds-" "I don't think so. You forget that an elevator is not as fast as you are, and that there are eight floors plus the stairs. I'd say about three to four minutes." They stared at each other, before whispering simultaneously "Eighteen minutes...". It was long. The culprit was probably already gone.

Another moment of silence passed.

(- -)

"_Yes, Svenja, I know! I promised but-_"

"_It's a corpse, __**a corpse! **__Unlike in movies, it's rather impressive the first time-_"

"_Svenja! Don't go to the mortuary! It's not something you should..._"

Vash interrupted his argument when he got the characteristic beep as his only response. "..._see_..."

_Why on Earth_ had he ever promised to make her discover his work! Aside from the fact that they would both get into trouble with his boss and that she was too young to be even remotely close to deaths and that he didn't want her to _see_ things like this... She was so stubborn! When he looked up, he noticed Antonio was running somewhere, and Lars following him with a little distance, shouting something along the lines of 'Come back here! Your wounds! You moron!'

He really was surrounded by idiots. Most of them not even able to do their job properly. What would they do if he weren't a forensic scientist? Sometimes, he felt like he was too good with people. At least he could sometimes let a little steam off on this particular corrupted politician or this serial killer who they never found the murderer of... But still! Svenja was young, and innocent! There was no way he would let her face deaths! Not again!

"TONI! I'm telling you he's probably already gone!"

Vash looked up. That had been Lars's voice, quite unmistakably. He put his cellphone back into his pocket, and stared at the approaching form of Antonio. When he saw the bandages, he could only think that he'd been damn lucky. And also that he would have a lot of paperwork to do ; it was never fun to be hurt by a criminal.

"Vash! Vash!" the Spaniard shouted from afar. He would have the time to flee if he ran away now... "Excuse me, miss... Hey! Vash, wait!" And suddenly, Antonio was in front of him, after a strange jump he'd executed to get over the 'keep out' bands, and was grinning widely. He opened his mouth to ask-

"No. I squarely refuse. Whatever it is." Antonio looked at him strangely, almost as if he didn't get the rebuff. "_I_ have work to do. _You_ have work to do. Now leave before I shoot you." Unfortunately for Vash, this threat wasn't as impressive as a few years ago. Since he'd started working for the law, he couldn't just kill someone on the spur of the moment.

Although Antonio had tempted him to do so more often than he liked to remember (like many people tended to do).

But he couldn't lose his job! Who would take care of Svenja, if he did? She would never be able to sustain them both with the little job at that (creepy) bar she had!

"It's just..." Antonio hesitated for a second. Was Vash's wrath worth the trouble?... Yes. "Do you think you could kill someone from this building over there?" The Swiss looked at where Antonio was pointing. He pondered over it for a second. "Might be possible. But only a good sniper, if you ask me. Someone used to it. Now you'll excuse me, I have to leave." _And somehow persuade Svenja not to follow me..._

He walked away, took the keys of his car out of his pocket, opened it. As he sat down on the leather-clad seat, he paused for a few seconds.

Idiots, giving him so much work. As if he didn't already have enough troubles...

* * *

_Svenja Rosenblut [24] is Vash's adoptive little sister, somewhat. I didn't want to stick to Heidi or Lily for Liechtenstein, so I took a very different German name I like a lot. If you're wondering, it's pronounced "Sven-yah", with the "e" like in the word "Yeah". Her parents died years ago and since then he takes care of her_. _He promised her to take her to his job once, when he was a little tipsy. Just a bit, because Vash doesn't drink a lot. She works at the _Hungary_, of course, as a little side job beside her studies._

_AN : The conversation between them in italic is in __Swiss __German, but I am unable to write that, and italics are easier. I have no idea how long it takes for professionals to clean away every trace of a murder, and I'm not that much of a sniper rifle expert either, so we'll all have to deal with that. By the way, I am encouraging nobody to commit murder, it is a terrible act. Please don't read this and get any wrong ideas! (Yes, I just thought about that now.)  
_


	5. 月夜

AN : Hello everyone! I posted this chapter in advance because there is a high probability of me not posting anything in the next one to two weeks because of final French exams. Sorry for the short chapter, but apparently my goal to have about 1500 words per chapter is somewhat too restrictive. The next one will be 2000+. Well. That's it.

_つきよ / 月夜__ [Tsukiyo] _- Night with moonlight (Japanese)_  
_

_Word count : 1312  
_

* * *

"… What were all those strange noises?" a man in his white pajama wondered while he looked out of the half-opened window, letting the moonlight bathe the room and his face in a soft silver-colored light. In red and blue lights too. He recognized those colors ; after living in this area for so long, you would have to be blind not to know what they meant, at his late hour of the night... Wait, didn't he know the blond man over there...? He furrowed his eyebrows, thinking. Did someone get hurt? He would have to get a closer look for that, and he opened the window completely.

For the first time in weeks, he noticed how cold it really was at night, for he always went to bed early and rarely went out with anyone (when he _did_ have a choice). The cold air stabbed his eyes and cheeks violently, his teeth immediately clenched shut. He hugged himself, to at least keep a little illusion of warmth in this lonely place.

" The police... I wonder why they are here this ti-"

"What is it?" another man asked when he appeared behind his back, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

His sudden appearance and question caused the man to jump, who turned around almost immediately, his black eyes wide open.

"Yao-san! What are you doing up so late?"

"I could ask you the same thing, aru." Yes, why was he awake this late? They had to work tomorrow, there was no way they could make a good job if one of them was half asleep. "I thought you had gotten used to this area being of ill fame, you don't need to be surprised by the Police being here, aru."

The shorter man nodded, then bowed down silently. Yao was right, seeing those red and blue lights in these streets had become an almost weekly occurrence, even though it mostly concerned things that weren't really dangerous ('no mam', no one's hidden in this box and no one will attack you...'). But he had heard someone shoot, and he didn't like that. "I just heard a gun, Yao-san..."

"Kiku, you won't change the world, aru. Go to bed, otherwise we'll never be able to open the restaurant tomorrow. And I will _not_ do all the work, aru!" with that, Yao pushed him towards the door, while he himself headed for his own room, where he had been sleeping before the uncharacteristic noise that was someone waking up at almost two in the morning made him shoot up in bed. Yao was the kind of person to be woken very easily. It actually really wasn't fun at all. Especially when Kiku sometimes happened to scream him awake in the middle of the night (he had never dared to ask what _exactly_ he dreamed about when that happened).

He watched the retreating back of the Japanese man, before the latter turned round quickly to close the window, and left for his room again, bowing down once more. Yao nodded in contentment. Good. Kiku should be awake enough the next day and they would be able to open the restaurant without a hitch. Yawning, he stretched, and moved back to his own room. He fell onto the bed, tangled himself into the mess of bedsheets, slept.

(- -)

_Without a hitch_, Yao thought while his eyebrows twitched at the sight in front of him. He took a firmer hold on the counter which he currently had his back against, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth. It would be so much easier if he had never met them, because that would mean he wouldn't have any troubles with frequently scared customers who would stand outside, not knowing if they could enter without somehow being involved in a fistfight. It would also mean he wouldn't have to worry about the occasional broken plates or Chinese porcelain he so dearly cherished that his brother would bring back from China.

Worst of all, it would probably mean he would never have met Kiku either.

So Yao just sighed and tried to survive his day through this.

It had gone smoothly, very smoothly even (which was a bit scary) for the first hours of the day. Not a lot of people were coming in the morning, but usually around noon, something close to a crowd could be seen in the restaurant, but not today.

Because for Yao Wang, a _crowd_ was never anything remotely close to _two people_.

The _Ougon no Ryuu_ had its very own customers, those who came regularly, those who ordered a lot but didn't come over very often, those who also spent money for the little bibelots that were brought back from China...

And those two.

He was hesitating : should he throw the two men out, literally, and forbid them to ever come here again? Not that they would listen, probably, and Kiku still was something like friends with them, but he did not appreciate it when others made a fuss in his- his and Kiku's restaurant and kept the customers away! He apparently had no choice, he would have to call for his co-worker. He would _not_ let two random Europeans mess up all the hard work he had done to get the restaurant to work!

"Kiku, say something, aru!" he cried out into the kitchen. "Your friends are having a fight again, aru!" After a few seconds, he heard someone stomping down the stairs, and Kiku appeared in the room, hair messy and tie undone, trying to straighten his jacket. He hadn't been in the kitchen. He blushed.

"I... Please forgive me, Yao-san, I... slept in on my work..."

Yao turned around to face him. Of course ; slept in. At least he hadn't been cooking, otherwise there would have been quite a bit of cleaning to do. "What were you calculating this time anyway, aru?"

"Oh, just this month's take. You will be able to buy the new wok you wanted, Yao-san. It might also be preferable to s-"

"_**Arsız çocuk****!**_"

"_**Μ****πάσταρδος!**_"

Yao sighed, Kiku stopped abruptly. He stared over for a moment, eyes widening in realization at the scene before him. A fight! In their restaurant! The Japanese man hurried over to the two fighting customers, flattening his hair while he did so. When he arrived next to them, he cleared his throat.

They both accidentally ignored him for a few more seconds, and only then did they notice his presence. Both apologized.

"Sadiq-san, Herakles-san, I am truly sorry to interrupt, but I must ask you to calm down..."

"Ya didn't interrupt anything, Kiku. That brat's just being annoyin'."

"Look who's talking..."

"Ya want another fight?"

Kiku waved his hands, panicked, attempting to calm them down. "Please, please! Not here, do not fight!" He turned around, glancing at Yao, who shouted from where he was standing : "I hope you're ordering something, aru. No chasing the customers away if you don't eat anything, aru!"

The two men looked at each other, still obviously extremely annoyed. With one last glare that was supposed to make the both of them burst into flames, they murmured "Same thing as always..." before Sadiq left for the other end of the restaurant, where he sat down on a table, and Herakles took a chair next to Kiku. The Japanese bowed down, walked back to where Yao was, and into the kitchen. The Chinese man followed him.

"They ordered the same thing they always do order, Yao-san." Kiku then said.

"So, fried rice with egg rolls, one portion without pork! Go for it, aru!" The other smiled, turning to his cooking utensils. "Get me the rice Kiku, will you, aru?" The Japanese did as he was told. "Those two should never know that they always order the same things, aru..." Yao whispered with another smile.

* * *

Kiku Honda [31] is a Japanese man who came to Europe to open a restaurant, but unfortunately things didn't go as well as planned. Yao helped him out, and now the restaurant has been open for about seven years.

Yao Wang [33] is the oldest character so far. He's travelled to Europe because he was kind of forced into it by his family. He has a cousin and a brother (who was 'adopted'), and comes from a rather wealthy Chinese family.

Translations :  
_Arsız çocuk_ (Turkish) Spoiled brat!**  
**_Μ__πάσταρδος_ (Greek) Bastard  
_Ougon no Ryuu_ (Japanese) Golden Dragon

_AN : Fried rice with egg rolls? Don't ask, it's one of the first things that came to mind. Anyway, Chinese cooking is awesome._


	6. 滴水之恩，当以涌泉相报

_AN : This definitely ended far longer than I planned it to. But anyway, have some flashback, and Asians._

滴水之恩，当以涌泉相报 _(Chinese) [is pronounced 'dī shǔi zhī ēn dāng yǐ yǒng quán xiāng bào'] - A drop of water shall be returned with a burst of spring_

_The saying means "Even if it was just a little help from others, you should return the favor with all you can when others are in need" ; I think it fits this chapter very well. What do you mean, I took a complicated title? *whistles*. in fact, I took it from Wiki Quotes [I still had to search for an adequate saying for over 15 minutes ; hngh]_

_Word count : 2328_

* * *

One of the things Yao Wang was the most unsure about in his life was his physic ; he had been mistaken for a girl more times than he liked to remember. Many times, he had thought about cutting his hair or working out but in the end... He didn't want to do either of it, which was why, when he turned eleven, he looked for something that could make people shut up about his gender and just admit that he was a guy.

Yao started kung-fu.

Which was, on a bright April morning, exactly what turned into the second thing that made him the most unsure about his decision.

He did not particularly like to travel, but since he had landed in Europe he would at least make the best out of it. Right then, he was in a particularly strange place, with awkward dark streets and a cat's cry somewhere far away like in those cheap American movies where someone would pop up any second to threaten him for his wallet.

He had seen the group of young men (how old were they? Not possible over twenty, right?), looking at something on the ground as if it where particularly interesting. He wouldn't have minded all that much if it weren't for the fact that one of them suddenly kicked whatever it was on the cobblestone and everybody around him laughed. He heard a whine escape, too.

Yao walked over, suspicious and dreading what it could be at the same time. A youngster turned around, eyebrow raised, and shot him a glare that was midway between boredom and interest.

"What do you want, woman? We have something here to take care of, so fuck off." Well, that was rude, stupid little brat.

"If you can't use your eyes correctly, you shouldn't talk at all, aru." When he heard Yao's voice, the teen (now the Chinese man was sure, those were still kids) started to laugh very loudly, and his friends turned round to see what had gotten him in that stage. Upon seeing that strange person, they just stared. What had that girl just said? Something funny probably, because she was currently blushing her cheeks off.

It was when a few of them had taken one or two steps back that he finally saw what it was they were all excited over. _Him_.

A _kid_.

Yao saw red. A group of about ten kids were fighting against one single person? That was cowardly and disrespectful! He would _not_ let that happen! He pushed the bunch aside, helped the kid get up with one arm wrapped around his waist and the other one holding his hand just next to his own face, and started to walk away. That is, before he was quickly interrupted by the same guy than before.

"Hey, bastard, what are you doing? That's none of your business, go away!" Yao felt the kid he was almost carrying stiffen, then he heard a soft voice murmur into his ear "He's right, sir. Leave or you'll regret it. Thank you."

Yao did not let him go, although he was starting to get slightly nervous. He hadn't thought about it, but maybe this kid wasn't as innocent as he looked? Still, ten against one was against all codes of honor he had ever learnt, and honor was important. He walked past the one who was blocking his exit, and away.

"What's your name, aru?" he asked the kid who was holding onto him like a lifeline. "Mine is Yao Wang, aru."

"...You're new here, right?" Yao nodded, the kid chuckled. "I guessed so." he chuckled and then coughed, and the Chinese man noticed for the first time how badly bruised he was. His left eye was already swollen, his lips had numerous cuts, and various bruises were blooming on his slightly pale skin.

"What the- **Get back here!**"one of the teens shouted, and quickly got a knife out of his pocket and, wait a second, was he really thinking about stabbing him with it?

Yao smirked. "Unknowing idiot, aru." he laid the kid on the ground (not too gently but it wasn't his fault, after all), and in one swift motion, took the arm of the other teen and whirled him around, twisting it in a painful position behind his back. He then clutched his wrist tighter, and the knife fell to the ground. He violently pushed him down on the cobblestone with his foot, the arm still pressed against his back with Yao's shoe.

It was fun. Yao hadn't had any fun since he'd left China for this godforsaken place. It was a nice change.

The fact that such an effeminate man could handle one of them with so much ease apparently scared them off, and while another was brave enough to look like he wanted to fight back, he quickly changed his mind when he saw the other teens run away, and followed them. Yao let the other kid who was still on the ground go after he heard something incredibly similar to a whine.

"**You deserved that, aru!**" he screamed into the direction where all the teenagers had run off into. He then turned around to help the other kid get up, but he had already sprung to his feet, and was staring at him.

"You're strange." Wait, _what?_ The unusual statement was followed by a large grin. "I like that! That was amazing! Where did you learn that?"

Yao smiled. Nice kid. "Back in China, I was born there, aru. And you..." he trailed off, looking at the kid's eyes. He was surely Asian too.

"I was born in Korea! Oh, how rude of me! My name is Yong Soo. Thank you for... well, everything!" They shook hands, when Yong Soo winced and stared at his fingers. Shit. Looked like that time he had broken his thumb, only this time it was his ring- and middle finger.

"What did they want from you, aru?" Yong Soo kept on staring at his fingers, silently avoiding the question.

"I guess they didn't like me... quitting." he looked up quickly, a large smile all over his face. "Maybe we'll meet again here, you never know, right?" and then he ran off, clutching his arm.

Yao stood there, thinking in silence.

"Strange kid, aru..." he whispered.

The wind blew a strand of hair into his eyes.

(- -)

If he had to be perfectly honest, at the beginning, Yong Soo was someone who didn't bother him. He was just... just being a weird teenage-kid. Stalker-ish-weird. But that was okay, because he mostly just wanted to talk, or show him things that were supposedly created in Korea, although the little '_Made in China_' etiquette on the side probably wasn't lying.

Until one day, he did what had caused Yao to retreat even further into his shell of complex. He had actually tried to grope him. And succeeded to. The worst part of all, though, was that he hadn't tried it anywhere, but on his chest. Where something was missing, since he was male.

Yao hadn't appreciated (_What was that for, aru?_), Yong Soo looked like he was about to try it out again. He did.

Yao ran away, a dark blush already making its was to his cheeks and probably to the back of his neck. He heard the kid shout behind him, and then follow. That was not good! He had to escape somehow, keep on running, find a place where he could hide-

There was a restaurant. An _open_ restaurant. It didn't look particularly good or bad, it was just very plain. A golden lettering read something that was close to Chinese, but he did not even have a spare second for that. Yong Soo was following him! _Following him!_ Yao ran in, and almost leaped behind the counter, where he crawled into the furthest corner and curled up into a ball. He knew he was trembling. Not that he was afraid, but _groping_ him? The kid should have known better. Finally, he started to breath again.

Until he saw a pair of very dark, very surprised eyes staring down at him from in front of the counter. He had no idea how old this person could be, but probably older than the Korean. Yao looked at him as pathetically as he could, whispering, "Please, don't tell him I'm he-" before he was interrupted by the sound of the door opening. He bit into his hand, his knuckles turned white, his eyes clenched shut. From then on, he was only aware of his own heartbeat and breathing.

Had he listened to what had happened, he'd known that the man whose counter he was currently hiding under was the owner of the restaurant. That he knew Yong Soo. That he hadn't given him away.

After what seemed like an eternity, the man ducked and stared at him again, his eyes darker than ever. What had happened? Was he angry? Oh no! What if he was a freak, too? Then, a hand entered his field of vision to help him get up. It was pale, thin, probably because of hard work and a lot of worrying. He suddenly felt sympathy for that man. Yao took the extended hand and got up, apologizing profusely and thanking him for everything.

The man just stared, silent. "Are you new here, sir? I cannot remember to have ever seen you before."

Yao waved it off. "Don't start with the 'sir', aru. My name is Yao. Yao Wang. Pleased to meet you, aru!" he said, smiling at him.

The other man bowed down. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Yao-san. My name is Honda Kiku."

This was the exact moment both their lives were about to change, as cliché as it sounded.

(- -)

"So you own this place, aru?" Yao questioned, sitting at a table of the cheap-looking restaurant, munching on one of the rice and salmon sushis Kiku had prepared for him because 'you look very tired and stressed, Yao-san.'. He took another one with the chopsticks he had been given, waiting for the answer.

"I do, for now." Kiku looked down. "But I will not for very long." Yao stared at him, the slice of salmon fell down on the plate, as he had somehow twisted his sushi bizarrely and was now holding it upside-down with his chopsticks.

"What do you mean, aru?" he asked, putting the rice support on the plate and trying to get the fish. Damn, he couldn't grab it!

"As you might have noticed, the restaurant is not working very well." The Chinese had a look around him, ignoring his salmon for the time being ; he'd get it later. But Kiku was right : he was the only customer. "I have about four regular customers," Kiku continued. "But it seems people here do not like Japanese food very much. They usually only eat the sushis. Except for my Greek friend, that is." he chuckled darkly, but quickly regained his composure. "In about two months, I will have no other choice but to close the restaurant."

"How long have you been working here, aru?" Yao asked suddenly. Kiku looked thoughtful for a moment, before he replied "For about a year. It was hard work to get everything right, but apparently, it cannot be helped."

True to his direct nature, Yao couldn't help it. "Would you accept any employees, aru?"

For the umpteenth time, Kiku stared at him as if he had said something particularly strange. In fact, he had. "Yao-san, I... I cannot keep the restaurant open for longer than two months, I cannot possibly _employ_ someone..."

"And if that someone invested, aru?" Kiku turned silent. _If_ someone invested, he might get out of it. But there was nobody who could help him out, even less lend him money. "I... do not know. Perhaps there would be a chance, but there is no one who could-"

"I would." They looked at each other, Kiku's face the very definition of shocked. "My family is not poor, aru, and I am a good cook. I used to cook a lot, back in Jinan, aru."

"Jinan...?" Kiku only managed to utter.

"It's the capital of the province of Shandong, I was raised there. But whatever, aru." Yao said with a wave of his hand. "I landed in this town and don't know what to do, aru. I could help you."

"Yao-san... We met about fifteen minutes ago! You cannot make such decisions this light-"

"Who said it is easy for me, aru? But I would like to help you, you seem to worry a lot, aru." Kiku didn't move. "That is, if you accept my offer, aru."

"I... I do not know what to say..." It was true. How was he supposed to react? Except for his four regular customers, nobody had ever showed any act of kindness towards him, Kiku wasn't used to it. And there came a man he had never heard about who proposed to invest money in the restaurant he had spent the last year of his life taking care of? It was too good to be true. He looked up, hesitant and biting his lower lip. "What... What would your conditions be?"

Yao thought about it for a second. What would he want? Well... "An income, a job and maybe a place to sleep would be great, aru! This stupid town has nothing like an acceptable hotel, I even saw one with rats, aru!" he looked up at Kiku, tried to study his face, but his expression was being far too neutral for him to decipher anything. "Do you agree, aru?"

"… I do."

The repairing and renovating of the restaurant started three days later, after they had bought dark red tapestry, white tins of paint and gold paint to write Chinese sayings in a decorative hand on the wallpaper.

* * *

_AN : I try not to overdo Yao's "aru"s, just as I didn't use any "da ze" for Yong Soo since I didn't find any adequate place for it. I don't want it to sound 'artificial' either, that's why. Yeah. Yao kicks major asses here, by the way. And honestly. WHO didn't mistake China for a girl the first time they saw him?_  
_Don't answer that, please._  
_By the way, I spared you the whole little paragraph that was supposed to be the description of _how exactly_ they fixed the restaurant._

_**Yong Soo Im** [25] He was 19 when he first met Yao, who was 27, while Kiku was 25. His parents are engineers and he's used to people with a lot of money, but he still has both his feet on the ground._


	7. Magyarország

_AN: Er, yes. So. For whatever reason, this chapter was replaced with chapter 5. I noticed that randomly. It's a good thing I keep the chapters on my computer._

_Magyarország -Hungary (Hungarian)_

_

* * *

_

He let himself in, the room was slightly darkened and a thick sent of cigarette (or was it incense?) hanging in the air. He took a few steps inside, closing the door behind him and straightening his collar, hoping he looked presentable. First impressions were always important, after all.

"Excuse me! Is there anyone here?" He was greeted by silence. Cursed, the only time he dared to enter, and nobody was here. "Excuse me?" he repeated, a little louder this time.

After his second call, he heard rapid footsteps and if he was right, they were coming in his direction. He looked around, before he saw a girl peek out from the door that probably led to a kitchen, or something like that. She then jumped into the room, her white dress floating around her and her tanned skin making her incredibly beautiful. He wondered how old she was, and what a girl like her could possibly do in a place like _that_.

"Yes sir? Do you need something?"

"Excuse me... Are you the owner of this place? I was wondering if I could work here..."

"Oh, sorry! Wait a second, I'll call the boss immediately!" He gulped. The_ boss?_ Who was this person supposed to be? Vash had told him the owner was a very sweet and caring person. He had also added _'When she is in a good mood, that is'_ afterwards, come to think of it...

The girl jumped out of the room, demonstrating once again how full of energy she was. He heard her call for someone, and then another person walked down the stairs. A soft voice murmured from the other room, before a low chuckle was heard. She came into the room.

"Good morning, sir. I am sorry but I have to inform you that we are closed at this hour of the day." She said, smiling while she brushed a strand of her long hair behind her ear.

"I do not mind, but maybe could you help me in another way." She looked surprised. "I am looking for work, and a friend..." He paused a second. Vash and friend? Hell would freeze over before that would happen. "An acquittance of mine told me that you might have something for me."

"Well..." she looked at him, and he noticed the little girl from before staring at him from behind the curtain hanging against the wall. "I have been looking for a musician for some time now. The last pianist we had ran away with his boyfriend." She seemed sour for a second, but the little girl behind her murmured something about 'nice photos', and she smiled widely. It was almost scary. "Anyway, what kind of music, if any, do you play, mister..." she trailed off, waiting for him to fill in the silence.

He immediately did. "Edelstein. Roderich Edelstein, madam." he said, bowing down slightly. He wondered for an instant if he hadn't overdone it, but she just chuckled, so he deemed it okay.

"My name is Erzsébet Héderváry, but people usually call me Elisabeth, or Eli, because they never pronounce it right." She smiled and glanced at the young girl behind her. "Serena, come over here, please." The girl in her white dress bounced over to the two of them. "This is Serena Pin, she works here as a waitress, most of the time. She also plays the violin."

The girl slid both her arms behind her back and rocked slowly from side to side. "By the way, you're looking at me as if I were a kid. Just so you know, mister Edelstein, I'm twenty!" She said, perfectly honest smile on her face and with great enthusiasm. Maybe this place wasn't so bad after all. It was nice to be surrounded by honest people once again.

Roderich turned his attention back to the older woman. "To answer your question, miss Héderváry, I play the piano." He hoped he had pronounced the name right. "I have been since I was six. I hope it is enough to be qualified."

"I think it would be okay, you'll play a piano piece for us later, if you don't mind. But I must ask you a few questions first." She walked behind the counter and took a notepad and a pencil. "Do you write 'Edelstein' with an E or with an A?"

"With an E."

"Okay. Your age?"

"Twenty-seven."

"Have you ever worked in a bar or something similar before?"

"No." She raised an eyebrow at his answer. "I have been living with friends for the past years and did little jobs in between."

"Is... that so." she wrote it down on her notebook. "Anyway. Next question." He nodded. "Are you gay?"

"… Pardon me? I think I misheard..."

"Are you attracted to people sharing the same gender as you?"

Had Roderich not been a gentleman and Erzsébet not so pretty, he might have stood up and walked out. Unfortunately, they both were, so he just looked at her in a dumbfounded silence. The woman looked up.

"Don't you know the particularity of the _Hungary_?" Roderich shook his head, still rather shocked by the question. "Oh, your friend didn't tell you... Well! You'll find out soon!" She turned around once, "Serena, you should show him the main room, and the piano." then, back to Roderich. "I am sorry, we haven't used the piano in a long time, you might have to tune it."

In the end, Roderich just _knew_ that he was going to regret his decision. Really regret it.

He sat down in front of the piano nonetheless.

(- -)

While he was playing, a little voice in the back of his mind told him that it was a good thing the piano was still tuned, but another was being annoying and he just had to ask. Roderich paused. Erzsébet looked up when she noticed the change in his attitude, and interrupted her current dust removal. "Excuse me, miss Héderváry. What time do you intend to open... this bar?"

She turned around to glance at the clock behind Roderich. "In about... **OH NO!**" She ran to the door, feather duster lying forgotten on the ground and leaving Roderich alone, sighing. So the sign at the door was indeed correct. He _would_ have to work up to five in the morning. As he was about to continue playing, he felt someone tap at his right shoulder, and he turned around, to see nobody. He frowned and turned back to the piano, where he met Serena's smiling face.

"You know, mister Edelstein," she started "you play very well! Maybe will you allow me to accompany you with my violin, one day?"

He smiled. "Of course, why wouldn't I?"

"I don't know. The people who come over here are usually very strange. So if you're here, you're probably like that too. Although you are the most normal person I've met here so far." That was a compliment, right? "You don't have to be afraid for your first time here. It'll be pretty awkward." She started to laugh at the comment she was about to make. "Especially if you see those three guys who don't look anything alike at all making a drinking contest." It looked as if she was remembering a scene that had happened some time ago, then she continued. "Okay, actually it's more two of them, the third usually ends up laying on the ground after a few rounds. They often come here for every kind of stuff. Drink or just meet new people and lovers, and so!"

Roderich flinched ; what was that? "Excuse me, Serena... Miss Héderváry said something about this bar being... particular. Maybe can you tell me more about it?"

"Of course! Eli doesn't look like it, but she has some weird fetishes." Serena didn't even feel bad for what she said, Erzsébet had never made it a secret. Furthermore, she didn't mind if someone advertised for the _Hungary_. "I wouldn't call it a gay bar, but the place is divided in two parts. The actual bar, and the cuddle corner. Isn't that cute?"

Roderich now officially regretted everything he had done to ever get here. He was going to make Vash regret it.

"Hey, hey! It's not going to kill you, you know? If you tell a few guys off at the beginning, they shouldn't bother you too much." She paused. "That is, if you don't count Francis. He's a special case. Eli usually throws him out, but he keeps on coming back anyway." She pointed proudly towards herself with her thumb, flashing a wide smile. "I actually live with him, you know? He doesn't make moves on me though, I've threatened him enough."

They were interrupted when Erzsébet came back into the room, a calm smile stretching her lips. Roderich checked his watch again ; it was seven in the evening. Serena whispered the last words. "I'm sure Eli has something to do with that too, by the way. Did you know that we don't even need a bouncer, here?"

The young girl moved away from him, and added, this time louder. "Shall I go get my violin, mister Edelstein? Maybe could we try it out right now!"

"Do as you please, Serena. I won't mind."

From behind the counter, Erzsébet smiled.

She took her notebook out of the pocket of her white apron, and next to the words _Roderich Edelstein_, added 'hired'.

* * *

_**Roderich Edelstein** [27] is a broke pianist who's been playing music for quite a few years now ; he works at the _Hungary_ so far._

_**Erzsébet 'Elisabeth' Héderváry** [29] is the owner of the gay bar '_Hungary_'. She was born in Hungary but was forced to move for a certain reason I'll explain in a further chapter or a side story. She is a bit protective toward her girls (Belgium, Seychelles and Liechtenstein).  
_

_**Serena Pin** [20] is a young girl who's been playing the violin for a long time. She started working for Erzsébet when she couldn't finance her studies anymore. She's generally cheerful and is often seen with a camera. She represents Seychelles.  
_

_AN : Indeed, the introduction of the so famous_ Hungary_ has finally been done. I also changed _Elizabeta_ into _Erzsébet _because I simply prefer it, and it's the Hungarian form of Elisabeth. Elisabeta is actually Romanian, and Elisaveta is Bulgarian and Macedonian. So let's just stick to the Hungarian form, 'kay? :)_


	8. Veuillez patienter

_AN: Here, have some Bad touch Trio. And the Netherlands comes back, too. Also, you should note that this is the first time writing this three together for me. It's a lot of fun ,so I hope they stay IC..._

_Veuillez patienter... - Please wait... (French)  
_

_Word count : 1595_

_

* * *

_

_Ring_.

He groaned.

_Ring_.

He took the pillow, and threw it over his head. No way. No phone. Not _now._ He still had hours of sleep he needed to catch up with.

"BROTHER, YOUR PHONE'S RINGING!"

_God damned-_

As if to emphasize his sister's words, the phone rang once more.

He sleepily let his head hidden under the pillow, and blindly groped for his cellphone on his night table. He'd grab it somehow, eventually. When he felt the device touch his fingers, he brought it under the pillow, and looked up who he was about to chew out for calling him at... What, almost eight in the evening? Really? Well, he'd gone to bed for about two hours today, so who would blame him? Anyway, he stared at the device uselessly, his sight blurry and trying to decipher the words.

_Ring._

As soon as the letters stopped dancing around, he powered the device off. Screw him. He was _not_ going to talk to Antonio. He had missed his precious sleep tonight because of him and he wasn't going to abdicate it once more. Whatever it was. Even if he called him to ask for an injured animal. Or because he was feeling lonely. Or if he was calling from the hospital because his wounds had suddenly gotten worse-

Shit, stupid Antonio.

He took the mobile phone back from the table, powered it on and looked for Antonio's number. Now he was awake. Really, damn him. It didn't even have the time to ring once when Lars already heard the cheerful voice on the other side. "S'rry, missed your call..." he mumbled sleepily.

"_That's okay, it happens to me often! You know, you're in a hurry and in fact all you want to do is press the green little phone but instead you press the red one and then the person on the other end of the line is upset because they think you don't want to talk to them and in fact it's just because you're clumsy but still it's—_"

Bastard.

"What were you calling for? What about your wounds?" he interrupted.

"_My wounds? Oh, well, my nose hurts quite a bit and the cuts at my fingers feel awkward and my neck is still a bit stiff and my back still hurts but other than that, I guess I'm fine!_"

"…"

"_And I wanted to ask if you wanted to go to Eli's tonight, with Francis, Gilbert and me!_"

"You have exactly three seconds to tell me something that will _not_ make me hang up on you."

"_Wha-_"

"**Two**."

"_Oh, I guess I can tell you that I got Vash's report, then. Well, a part of it at least._"

"…** And you're telling me only now?**" Lars almost shouted from under his pillow. He tried to calm down. Idiot. "What did he find out?"

"_Well..._" He heard a rustling noise in the background. Probably paper. "_Ah, here it is..._" This time, pages turned. "_Okay. So. The cause of his death was indeed the bullet he received in the back of his head... And here, something else interesting. From the ballistic. Apparently, he could have been shot from the building we were on, because of the angle of the impact or something like that_..."

"What about the bullet?" More paper rustle.

"Caliber_ 7,62x51 millimeters, NATO, whatever that is..._"

"... You're a bad cop, you know that? NATO is just there to say that it is standard format. So that they can exchange their ammunitions wherever the go on mission, something..." He tried to think straight despite the cloud that was currently fogging his mind. It didn't work. "What about the weapon?"

"_Yeah... That's the awkward thing. Vash added a little Post-it note, here, when he gave me that part of his report..._"

"And...?"

"_He wrote 'Too many possible weapons. The guys from the ballistic are not done yet and I'm not looking them all up for you. Not at five in the morning. Google it, moron.' Why do you think he wrote that?_"

"… I'm guessing : because you're _you_."

"_And?_"

"Forget it, Antonio."

"_Oh. Well. Okay. I think that's it. I hope I didn't disturb you, see you tomorrow at work!_"

"What do you mean-"

_Click_.

"—at work?"

Lars threw his phone aside without looking, irritated ; it fell down in an agonizing clatter. He heard muffled footsteps from where he was trying to sleep, and then the door opened.

"Who was it?" He didn't respond and for a long moment, there was nothing but silence. Maybe had she already left.

"_Broer_..." She hadn't.

"You have three guesses."

"Antonio?"

"Yes."

The person chuckled. "Okay. Well, try to sleep a bit, Lars, you deserve it. I'm going to work."

"Isn't it a little too late?" he asked, still under the strategic location that were the cushions.

"Wait... Oh, yes it is! Well, that's okay. I told Erzsébet that you came home late, so she won't mind."

"… What do _I_ have to do with this...?"

"…" Lars could practically _hear_ her rolling her eyes. "Nothing. I'm leaving. Bye, see you tomorrow!"

"Yeah..." The door slammed shut. "Bye, Amélie..."

(- -)

"_Es-tu persuadé d'avoir appelé ton ami, Antoine?_"

Antonio stared. And tried to think. And stared again.

"Sorry Francis, I think he's not drunk enough to understand what you're talking about. And by the way," the man took the pint of beer in front of him, and downed about a third of it in one gulp. "I'm not either. So quit the French." Francis huffed and waved his hand in dismissal.

"You are so violent and insensible, Gilbert. Antoine, at least, understands me a bit." he turned around. "_N'est-ce-pas?_"

"_Tu_ is 'you', right?" Antonio said, brows furrowed, not listening to Francis at all anymore and staring at his glass in grand concentration as if it would tell him the answer at any moment. So much for understanding. Francis sighed.

"I think it will be just you and me, then. Antoine looks like he has already lost." He glanced at Antonio quickly, who was now attempting to scold his beer glass for not giving him any response. Yup, definitely only the two of them.

"Tonio is awesome, but not awesome enough to hold alcohol." He finished his glass. "Hey, Erzsi! Mind if I have another one?"

"As long as you pay for it and don't destroy my furnitures or get naked to dance on the counter, I don't mind."  
Gilbert suddenly didn't look particularly well at ease, and might have blushed a bit. Might, because blushing definitely wasn't awesome, damn it. "Hey! That was a one-time thing!"

"I hope so." Erzsébet answered, glaring at him .

"Yeah, yeah... Hey, Francis, what did you ask earlier?"

"Do you want to have sex with me?" Francis smiled smugly as he whispered the words next to his friend's ear, getting closer to him until their legs touched.

"No, after that." Gilbert replied, unfazed, and pushing Francis back into his stool.

"Does Antoine want to have sex with me?" the Frenchman wondered aloud, one eyebrow raised.

The German pressed his palm against his face. "No, not that one either." Another glass appeared magically in front of him. Well, almost magically anyway. "Thank you, Erzsi!" He drank. "That other thing. In French. Just before, when Tonio started staring at his glass."

Francis looked thoughtful for a second, and then he remembered. "_Ah, _o_ui! _I just wanted to make sure if he had called the right person." Francis smiled again, Gilbert just wanted to hide. "He doesn't look bad, you know?"

"You say that from everyone, Francis."

"_Jaloux_, Gilbert?"

"Nah. I'm rather alone."

"Sure you are..."

A short moment of silence, and then. "Of course I took the right door! Otherwise I wouldn't be here with you, silly!" Antonio laughed joyfully. Francis and Gilbert both didn't say anything, but stayed perfectly calm, as this kind of situation had only become very common. Antonio was talking with his beer glass. So what? Gilbert did it all the time when it didn't refill itself automatically, Francis did things that were even less orthodox than that.

"You know what? I think we should wait for Dennis next time, at least he would be an entertaining drunk."

"And he has a nice ass-"

"Stop that, Francis."

* * *

_Translations :_  
_Broer (Dutch) : Brother_  
_Es-tu persuadé d'avoir appelé ton ami, Antoine? (French) : Are you sure to have called you friend, Antoine? (Antoine is just the French form of Antonio. Yeah, Francis will do that lot, because he likes to annoy the hell out of everyone)  
N'est-ce-pas? (French) : Am I right?  
Jaloux, Gilbert? (French) : Jealous, Gilbert?_

_**Francis Bonnefoy** [24] is the one of the trio to easily get bored ; they met on a camping trip once when they were still kids, and through strange circumstances met again in high school (in Italy, so it was a damn coincidence). His parents are quite rich, and he likes to invent a lot of messed-up things when he has nothing else to do._

_**Gilbert Beilschmidt** [24] is the one of the trio who works at the bank. But not just as employee, he's actually the boss there, and handles it quite well. He holds alcohol very good, up to a certain extent._

_Veuillez patienter... __[Please wait...]_


	9. Negaidīts

_AN: This is extremely abnormal, isn't it? Me updating chapters this fast?_  
_I'll be gone for two weeks, that's why. I'll respond to those lovely reviews when I'm back though. Thank you folks, they really warm my heart up :')_

_Negaidīts - unexpected, unsuspected, surprising, unforeseen, unlooked for, unrehearsed, undreamt of, unwelcome, accidental (Latvian)_

_Word count : 1435  
_

* * *

Awkward silences usually floated in the air after one of Antonio's stupid comments ; or when Juanma deemed it okay to throw a junkie or a drunkard in the cell for the night ; or when Francis was delivered at the police station for sexual harassment (although those silences were far from being tense and had somehow ended up being far more customary than they really should be) ; or when Alfred decided to go on another five-minute speech about why there should be more heroes like him out there to fight crime. When it involved him, it was usually because he had tripped on nothing and ended sprawled on the ground ; or when he told people that no, he was not a middle schooler and already twenty-three, thank you very much.

It was none of those situations.

The man had come up to the counter and he had asked him what he needed. The other had somewhat smiled, and started to explain that he was receiving threats but didn't worry all that much, that he was just here out of sheer formality and oh, yes, there were probably going to be papers to fill out too and his name was Eduard Von Bock.

And then he had said it.

The silence still hung in the air between them (except for Alfred's chatting that could be heard from one end of the office to the other ; he was talking about something that had happened to Lars and Antonio a few hours prior.), and the young man waved his hands around frantically, desperately trying to find the right words.

"I mean, no, I'm sorry! I am not, I just- Usually people ask me that and don't think I'm a policeman and- Wait, I'm going to get a colleague in a second!" and he stormed off, leaving Eduard dumbfounded and alone.

While he was walking through the corridors, he was deeply wondering where his friend could be. Not near the coffee machine, not with Alfred (_as if that would ever happen_, he thought), not near the boss's office either...

"Juanma! Juanma!" He looked around. Where was the man? He needed to find someone who looked like a real policeman, with muscles and the uniform, and not someone as undersized as him who had barely started here! "Juanmaaaa!", he... well, for him it was like shouting, but since his usual voice was something hardly distinguishable from a whisper, it came out more like a person talking normally.

"What is it?" Thankfully his friend was used to it.

"There you are! There's someone over there and he wants to complain for a case of threatening letters and I thought it would be better if I asked a real policeman to help him out, and, uh... yes..." He was silent. On the other hand, people already didn't believe him when he told them he was full-grown, and work at the police on top of it? Never. It was a lot easier for him to write reports when others were too lazy for it or go get coffee cups for everyone, or even run from one end of the office to the other to photocopy something...

A large hand patted his head. "You don't need to worry, Raivis. Those who don't acknowledge you for who you are are idiots. What did you tell him?"

"What? N-nothing..."

Juanma's laugh was loud and clear. "Don't kid me, Raivis. When you look like that it's because you said something you don't want others to know!"

Raivis looked down, and inaudibly murmured something. The Cuban raised an eyebrow at that.

"You told him you were in middle school...?"

"No, no! It's just that- I mean- Usually they think I am and when he said 'You're from the police?' I- I just- I answered the opposite, and... and now he probably thinks so." he lamely finished.

Juanma sighed. "Okay, I get it. Come with me, at least clear that little misunderstanding away, then."

"What? No-"

"_Raivis_."

"O-okay!"

Juanma patted his head again. "There's nothing to be afraid of." he said, and it was true. Out of all the people working here, Juanma was the only one Raivis could ever consider a friend. He followed him as he went back to where the other man was staying, almost hiding behind the large stature of the Cuban.

"Good evening, sir. My friend here," he nudged him so he would go away from the place he was currently hiding next to, "told me you were receiving threatening letters?"

"This is correct. I don't believe in them, though, but I thought maybe there is a serial prank player, and you might need every clue you can get. Anyway, I just finished my work, and the police station is on the way to my house, so I stopped by and thought it would be best to inform you."

"You did well, mister. May I ask for a few personal data of yours?"

"Go ahead."

Juanma went away ; in the meantime, the disappearance of his large body had caused Raivis to be visible again, and Eduard had smiled at him. He really would have to say that he worked here. Damn slips of tongue. And why was he so nervous about telling him? "You would have to fill in this paper here." the Cuban said when he came back, laying the blank form in front of the man and handing him a pen. "There's your name, a phone number where we can join you..." Juanma kept on talking, and Eduard listened to every word, but Raivis didn't. Who was that man? He somehow had the feeling he should know him. He also had the feeling he should_ get to know_ him, strangely. He felt his cheeks heat up. What was he thinking? That man was here, Juanma was currently taking care of him, and he could just do the same things he always did. He'd just have to go around to ask if anybody wanted coffee, and everything would be back to normal. So he did.

But he never forgot about Eduard.

(- -)

About one hour later, Raivis couldn't stand it anymore. He was not the kind of person to get attached to anyone or anything so quickly, but more the loner who would just watch everyone and analyze them. He'd gotten very good at it over all the years of his chronic loneliness. Not being able to forget about that man drove him insane, and he couldn't even tell why. It was not like there was any chance to ever see him again.

But since when did a human being accept his fate? Well, most of them would, but Raivis had a strange relationship with life, and with his in particular, so he usually decided on things against his instincts, as they had often mislead him.

"Say, Juanma..." he trailed off, words already heavy and his throat dry. He had forgotten to plan what he wanted to say!

"Yes?" the man turned around, his dark eyes directed towards his own small silhouette, his shaking hands, his lowered head. The older of the two raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"

"Actually, nothing! I- It's okay, I didn't-" A weight was suddenly on his head, and he didn't even need to look up to know what it was.

"Listen, Raivis. If there is something you want, say it. I can only guess." Why was it that he got along so well with people who just screamed 'I have confidence issues!'? "You don't have to be scared of what others will think of you. If you only have that one thing in mind, you'll never dare anything." he removed his hand. "Now. What is it?"

Raivis stared at the ground. When he had been thinking about asking, it seemed so much more simple...! But he knew Juanma, he wouldn't let him get away with that.

"That man, earlier..." Oh God, what was he saying? "What... What was his name?"

"I believe it was Van Back, or something... Wait a moment." He walked towards his desk, where reports and documents were piling up, took the first of the stack, looked. "Actually, it's Von Bock. Eduard is his first name. He's a lawyer." he looked up. "You need anything else?"

"No, it's okay. Thank you!" but before he could turn around, Juanma had his hand on his shoulder.

"You don't look that okay to me." he shook him a bit. "Come on, if you don't tell _me_, who will you?"

Raivis smiled shyly. It was nice, to have a friend.

* * *

_**Juan Manuel 'Juanma' Savón** [25] : Policeman, who works, just like Raivis, at the uniformed police (if that's what you call them)._

_**Raivis Galante** [23] Also policeman, he is the one who does all the annoying work, and has hard self-confidence issues._

_AN: You'll know about Eduard later :)  
Also, Cuba/Latvia, crackshipping much? But I won't settle for this one, they're just friends :3_


	10. Neredeyse çok geç

_AN: There's not a lot to say about this chapter... Only that I had a lot of fun with it.  
Also, on another note, please tell me ; should I add Turkey/Greece in this story or shouldn't I? I'll probably follow the majority, but if nobody says anything, I'll just add that pairing in there somehow, because they're a lot of fun to write_. _I'll respond to all the reviews right away. Oh, and chapter 14 is a b*tch to write._

_N__eredeyse çok geç - Almost too late__ (Turkish)_

_Word count : 1573_

_

* * *

_

"I _really_ think you shouldn't talk to him today."

"But I need to ask him something about what happened yesterd-"

"Trust me, you've never seen Lars in a bad mood."

"I have-"

"SHUT UP PEOPLE ARE TRYING TO SLEEP HERE."

"...No, you haven't. Now you'll excuse me, I have something to take care of."

"_Ow_... My head hurts now-"

"Antonio, go _home_. You're not supposed to be here anyway."

"What about you?" Antonio asked, rubbing his throbbing head.

"_I_ did not need any hospitalization and _I_ did not drink with friends yesterday night."

"But being with Francis an Gilbert is a lot of fun, you know! We know each other for, what, fifteen years? You should have come with us!" he looked up, taking a little time to indulge in old memories. "But you don't look well." He stated. "How come?"

His partner grunted. "_Something_ interrupted my sleep."

"Really? What was it?"

"Antonio. Go. _Away._" Why did he even come, today, if he couldn't even stand straight properly? And why was Antonio here? He was supposed to stay home for at least two weeks because of his injuries (mostly his nose), so why was he here? He plopped his head down in his arms, and settled for ignoring his friend for the time being.

"Laaars..." Antonio had _not_ just whined. He was a grown male, damn it, he didn't whine.

"Laaaaars..." … And he was Antonio.

"_What._" Antonio's mood suddenly brightened ; Lars hated it when the dreary atmosphere turned into something as cheerful in less than a second. It was very bad for his sanity.

"You know, I was thinking about something." Lars held back any comments about Antonio actually _thinking, _although it was so very tempting. "Do you remember the man I ran into? Because I don't."

Man? "What man?"

"You know, in that old building. Why did the lift still work, by the way? It looked abandoned..."

"…" Why, just _why_ did he have to do this job? "Maybe was it just _old_, but not _abandoned_. And what man do you mean?"

"I don't know, just remember that I ran into someone... Someone taller than me." he frowned. "You know who I mean?"

"… Yes. But I didn't really look at them either..."

"Them?" Antonio was confused ; not that he wasn't often so, but his hangover added on top of his usual self surely wasn't helping.

"I guess you just ran into one of them without noticing there was another man. He was shorter. Quite short, now that I think of it. And he looked very annoyed."

"Would you be able to recognize him?" That was determination, in his eyes.

"… Probably not."

(- -)

"HEY! When are ya gonna let me outta here?"

"Please, sir, wait a moment. A colleague is going to let you out soon." Raivis said, walking past the cell without even according it a glance. He was in no mood to, not with Lars having already shooed him away about four times, Antonio annoying the hell out of him, and his boss asking for photocopies ; someone _would_ end up letting Sadiq out anyway. Him being in a cell for a night was a common occurrence, for he always had fights with... whatever his name was, Hercules-something, maybe... and to prevent any further escalations, they would have to lock him up somewhere.

Well. _Technically_, he didn't _need_ to be locked up. But when Lars or Juanma were on duty, they tended to keep him in custody because they were both... a little rough.

"**Kid! Hey, kid! Wait!** Shit, what's his name again... **KID!**" And there was his last chance, walking away. Damn, he'd have to stop trying to beat Herakles up every time he was being too annoying. Which would be difficult, since Herakles was _always_ annoying.

But he could not just stop having fights with Herakles! It was a custom since middle school!

"Is anyone here?"

He slumped down the wall at the lack of response, his head in his hands and sighing heavily. He didn't even know what time it was, and he needed to be at his appointment with Chao at nine thirty. He was probably already late anyway, and Chao was always punctual... He'd get scolded though, technically, he was the boss. Not like there had ever been this kind of relationship between them to begin with.

He instinctively looked at his wrist, only to notice once again the lack of a watch, so he started rubbing his eyes with his hand. Time was passing way too slowly.

After more long and torturous minutes, he finally heard footsteps again. Sadiq jumped up and turned towards the door, to meet face to face with the man who had thrown him inside and the one because of whom he was in there in the first place. He suddenly felt worse.

"Sadiq Adnan, this man here decided not to complain and admitted that he also shares the fault in your dispute. None of you asked for further investigations, you may leave if you want." While Juanma said it, he opened the door of the cell, leaving Sadiq to glare at Herakles, and the Greek to calmly look back, his eyes half-closed. Before he could walk out, though, the Cuban's voice prevented him from doing so. "Sadiq, Herakles, it'd be great if you had less fights, the both of you. All those procedures are quite annoying. And really." he looked at Herakles. "Aren't you tired of going to the hospital for broken limbs, black eyes, and whatnot?"

The fact that _he_ usually was the one to get hurt was annoying. The fact that someone would rub it under his nose was ten times worse. Herakles walked away.

"I'll think 'bout it, _mister Savón._ But I can't promise ya anything."

Juanma sighed. "I guessed." A short silence. "Well, don't you have anything else to do?"

_That_ brought him back to reality. "Shit! What time is it?"

"Almost eleven." Juanma didn't have the time to ask what was wrong : Sadiq was already out of the room. He was over an hour late! Chao would probably have waited (he was too polite not too- his brother's influence was to blame, undoubtedly) but it was still too long!

He ran out of the police station, took no time in resting or greeting anyone he happened to know (but he still _unintentionally_ bumped into Herakles when he saw him outside). He had told him they'd meet in front of the Asian restaurant, which was both a good and a bad thing, come to think of it. He would not get too bored, but both Kiku and Yao would assist to his unpunctuality, and he liked the both of them too much to look bad in front of them.

This stupid town had never been so big before, so why was it taking him so long to get there?

When he spotted the golden lettering from the _Ougon no Ryuu_, he finally allowed himself to breathe again, and slowed down a bit.

Chao wasn't there. Well, he'd probably just walked in.

Sadiq stepped inside, stretching his neck and still breathing with a little difficulty. A few customers turned around to stare at him, turned around to whisper something at the person sitting next to them. Why were there so many, at this hour of the day... Oh, yes, it was almost noon already, he'd almost forgotten that.

He moved towards the kitchen (he'd been hanging around Kiku for almost as long as Herakles, and that was long enough for him to pop up in the kitchen uninvited), walked in, and greeted Yao who was currently cooking something.

"Smells good!"

"It always smells good, aru!"

Sadiq laughed. "Yeah, sure. Say, where's your brother?"

He stopped cutting whatever vegetable it was, and stared at him. "Chao, aru?"

"Yes? Ya don't have any brothers I'm not aware of, right?"

Yao waved it off. "Of course not, aru. But why should he be here? I haven't seen him in days!"

"Were you waiting for him, Sadiq-san?" That was Kiku coming in, the Turk quickly shook his hand (never show any kind of affection towards Kiku, he had understood that on their very first meting).

"Yeah. Told him we'd meet in front of here, but I was late. Hope he's not gone."

Kiku and Yao looked at each other. They both knew Chao, and he wasn't the kind of person to make someone wait, and even less to leave before he was told straight out that the person he was waiting for was not going to come.

_That_ caused Yao to panic, him who rarely ever lost his self-control. "What if something happened to him, aru?"

"I don't think it's anythin' like that. Maybe he got to talk to a pretty girl and lost track of time, huh?"

"Chao's not like that, aru!"

"Pardon me." Everyone turned around. The man bowed down, his joined hands hidden under the long sleeves of his traditional Chinese costume. "I am truly sorry for being so late, Mister Adnan. I will make sure this will never happen again, such behavior is unacceptable."

"That's fine, Chao!" Oh, good, he was fine. "What happened? You look rather tired."

The Chinese didn't react at first. "I wish not to talk about it, if you don't mind." he said, bowing down once more.

Well. _That_ was strange. Awfully strange.

* * *

AN: Lars needs his sleep. Antonio is being annoying and should not be working because of all his wounds but he's still at the Police station. Juanma is cranky because he's had troubles with Alfred ; Raivis is annoyed because of Lars. Sadiq and Herakles have an unhealthy love/hate relationship that's close to 'I need you because you're the only person I can annoy this much'. Yao is the born over-worrier, and Chao's hiding something. Too much suspense and I talk too much.

**Chao Yuen** [29] is Hong Kong. He is almost Yao's little brother, whose family has taken care of but never adopted or anything since he lived with his grandparents. He's a singer and musician.

**Sadiq Adnan** [28] is Chao's manager (and why the hell is he younger?). He met Yao and Kiku thanks to him.

**Herakles Karpusi** [26] is a psychologist and has been trying to get rid of Sadiq for a few years now. Unfortunately, they keep on somehow working at the same places. Hang in there, Herakles!


	11. Pasta!

AN: _I am not even going to_ think_ about translating the title this time. Also, if you don't just by reading this at least _one_ of the characters to be introduced, you are officially hopeless XD_  
_This chapter here was a real b*tch to write. The first part of it at least was._  
_I would like to thank _Lanaroolz_, too. Since you disabled the PM function I can't reply directly but yeah xD I'll try to use that nickname if I can make it fit somewhere, thank you~ Also, the actual plot should start showing its face in the next chapter. Woot, even more character introductions!_

_Word count : 1618_

* * *

"Mister Feliciano! Please, there is no-"

"Excuse me! Do you happen to know an Italian restaurant here, ve?"

A bouncing form in front of him was pretty much the only thing he could keep track of right now. There was a tall and scary-looking guy behind him, too, who looked like he would rather be anywhere but here. The expectant look on the smiling man's face made him think that maybe, probably, he needed to say something.

"None that I am aware of..." He didn't come over often, so he didn't know Burchee very well... but that had never been the question. In fact, he had never visited that strange bar either, and had learnt about the existence of _any_ restaurant a few weeks back.

He liked his home island better anyway ; there was nothing worth seeing here, except for the high number of murders and the huge amount of crime. Those were entertaining, in their own creepy way. It was the reason he had a job in the first place.

"What? There's no Italian restaurant? Ve, but Lovi told me he held one, there _has_ to be something here! He doesn't lie, ve!" The young man sounded offended now. So what, it wasn't his fault if he didn't know anything about the locals. The man shrugged.

"If you happened to see Lovi or his restaurant, tell me, ve! My name is Feliciano Vargas, I'll be waiting for him, somewhere." He pensively stared at his hands, and whispered a soft 'Ve...'. That was when the tall blond behind him stepped forward. "Excuse me." he said, addressing a polite nod of his head to the man, and then lifting the other over his shoulder.

"VE! Ludwig, wait, I want to find Lovi!"

"I know, mister Feliciano. But we won't at such a late hour." Ludwig had tried calling the young male 'Mister Vargas' when they had first met, but he just wouldn't let him do so. He had insisted on being called 'Feli', but that was a certain limit of indecency he would never cross. Furthermore, the Italian wanted to find his brother, Ludwig did his best to avoid his own. And if he could, avoiding the elder Italian sounded just as tempting.

"Luuudwig, I want to find Lovi, to make him an early surprise for his birthday! Oh!" Ludwig looked up at the man who had just stopped struggling under his grip. "Ve, do you think he'd like it if I cooked him a lot of pasta?"

Ludwig facepalmed ; he'd never get used to him. "Excuse me, we will take our leave now."

"Ludw-"

"_Mister Feliciano_. We. Are. Leaving." Feliciano opened his mouth to protest, but the German beat him to it. "_Now_."

"Ve, you're no fun, Ludwig."

"You keep on telling me, mister Fe-"

"Come ooon, Ludwig! Ve, for how long do we know each other? I told you to stop calling me _mister_, it makes me feel snobbish and stupid and protected and, ve."

The young man looked a little disconcerted, having completely been forgotten by the pair, and opted for a quick retreat. He'd have to chose another meeting point with his brother next time. Preferably far away from any restaurant, hotel, and Italian or German things in general ; those two looked like he would meet them again. He walked off silently, disappearing in the darkness of the town ; the two remaining Europeans didn't notice it.

"I _am_ here to protect you, mister Feliciano." The Italian pouted, but Ludwig hadn't found anything to add to the two other things he'd said so he considered it a victory for himself anyway. The German's tightening grasp was nothing even remotely close to comfortable though.

"Ve, you should let me down, Ludwig, I can walk alone!" he tried to wiggle himself free from the strong grip and then he fell, because Ludwig had suddenly let go of him and he was harshly introduced to the pavement. "Ouch!"

Ludwig immediately knelt down next to the smaller man, apologizing and his cheeks tainted a faint red. He hadn't really noticed that carrying the man over his shoulder _like_ _that_ allowed him a perfect view of a certain part of his body he had never really looked at.

And he was _not_ in denial.

Or maybe he was.

(- -)

"Ludwig, I'm tired, ve..."

The German noticed that apparently, Feliciano wasn't faking it, as his wobbly footsteps and his fluttering eyes were something he never managed to correctly imitate when he was just pretending to be half-asleep. Ludwig sighed, and scratched the back of his head in search of a solution. Feliciano hated hotels, and somewhere deep in the back of his mind, Ludwig had hoped that they would find his brother today ; it would have at least made it a lot easier for the both of them to find a place to sleep. Although he would probably have been fought over, with one of the brothers forcing him to sleep outside, and the other to sleep with him.

Not in that way, mind you.

His brother would probably think that this kind of situation was entertaining, or awesome ; it wasn't to Ludwig. He hated conflicts as much as he hated untidiness, unpunctuality, and most of the things his brother did at all, since when it came down to it, he usually was the one who had to fix everything. That was the main reason he didn't want to find him here. The best would be to avoid him for as long as he could.

"Ludwiiiig..." Feliciano whined this time, and Ludwig had the bad idea to look at him. The Italian was staring at him with _those eyes_. Damn.

He knelt down a bit ; he had learnt long ago that it was near impossible for him to argue with Feliciano. The younger male smiled brightly, jumped onto his back and put his arms around his neck, encircling his torso with his legs. "Yay, piggyback!" he laughed, causing Ludwig to blush. He walked for a bit, trying to find a hotel although the man he was supposed to take care of would not accept it, most likely.

"Do you know someone else here, mister Feliciano?" it was near impossible, but one could still ask. He didn't know where they would sleep if they weren't able to find Lovino tonight. But in the end, it was his own fault too ; he should never have agreed on such a spontaneous trip, and he _knew_ how Feliciano was.

"Hmm?" Ludwig heard a yawn. Don't tell him he had already fallen asleep! "Ve, maybe..." the Italian whispered, before almost drifting back off to sleep.

"Who would that be?" Ludwig shook him a bit ; it wouldn't do if he had to carry an unconscious Feliciano around, looking for someone without knowing who it was. "Who do you know here, other than you brother?"

Feliciano's grip around his neck tightened a bit and Ludwig felt his breath ghost along his skin. Feliciano would have fallen down once more because Ludwig suddenly let go of him, hadn't he been holding him so tight.

"Well, there's Kiku... and Erzsi too... Though I think Kiku would be too uncomfortable if we came now and there's probably no space at his place, not enough at least... But Erzsébet won't mind, she likes me a lot, ve."

"And where does she live?"

"_Hungary..._" Feliciano murmured sleepily, loosening his hold, which in spite of everything remained incredibly strong.

Ludwig stopped.

"She lives _where?_"

His only answer was a snort.

"… Mister Feliciano? She does not live in another country, right? I asked about here, this city! Not the continent!" No response. "Mister Feliciano!"

Again, Ludwig was talking alone. He sighed, and tried to find a place that looked Hungarian, which seemed like an impossible task to accomplish at past eleven in the evening.

When he much later found a loud place with a large neon sign reading '_Hungary_' he thought he had finally reached it, before he realized that this was a _bar_. What girl would live in a bar? The time he needed to think about it, he assisted to a strange event. The door opened violently, and a man was thrown out.

_Literally_.

"**HOW OFTEN DID I TELL YOU TONIGHT NOT TO HIT ON RODERICH, FRANCIS?** This is the first and _last_ time I warn you. You can see how you'd deal with a complaint for sexual harassment if you _ever_ dared to do that again. And how you'd deal with a crushed spinal column too, if he happened to leave because of you!"

"Elisabeth, why so mad? I thought you liked it!" The man, apparently called Francis, sighed. Ludwig noticed he smelled of alcohol, but just a bit. Was that _wine?_ When the woman glared at him, the man stood up. "Well, I suppose I am not welcome here anymore. But I'll come back anyway. _Cet endroit est trop parfait pour ne pas y venir régulièrement._"

"Just... Just go, Francis. I have things to do." As Francis walked off, the woman finally noticed Ludwig, who still had an unconscious Feliciano on his back, although he was now a bit dumbfounded. "Good evening, mister." She said, with a smile. How could she have switched from such a scary to such a beautiful person in just a second? "Do you want to come in? Hmm?" She walked a little closer, noticing the man he was carrying. "Could it be... Oh, Feliciano, it's you!"

"I am sorry, but he's currently asl–"

"Erzsébet, you're just as pretty as you were in my dreams, ve!"

Ludwig let him fall down, on purpose this time.

* * *

_AN : I never thought I'd make Ludwig of all people the first character to introduce a bit of romance. And he's not in denial, no sir_. _Oh, and actually Francis is very used to being thrown out. But you'd guess that. And Erzsi is being violent. I also noticed I made a mistake with her family name, writing Hédeváry instead of Héde**r**váry. I corrected that in chapter 7.  
Also, Feli is a mean piggyback-ride-plotter, you all know it. And Erzsi is very protective of her employees._

**Ludwig Beilschmidt** [22] is something like Feliciano's bodyguard. He was hired when Feliciano's grandfather thought it might be better for his grandson to get someone to take care of him, and he is, so far, the only one who (somewhat) managed to handle him.

**Feliciano Vargas** [21] is a (world-)famous artist, from painting to simple sketches and drawings and whatnot. He's also quite eccentric, and currently looking for his big brother.


	12. Сбор всей семьи

_A/N: I am not late. No. Who said that?_  
_Seriously, a lot of things have been happening recently and I haven't had the time to write as much as I would have liked to. Thus, I didn't update, although I _do_ have a few chapters in advance~ On another note, my American friend is here so we spent time together, and school is starting again tomorrow for me. Uh. Third and final year of high school. I don't wanna Q_Q_

_Another also tells you that plotbunnies have been running in my head and seem to like it up there, for they have already have a lot of little plotbunnies and my brain's kind of running out of space now. Another AU, more Asian-centric, in a parallel universe. nothing is written so far, I'm only planning for now. And having fun.  
_

_I enjoyed writing these four together. Have a mass introduction chapter~! Also, thanks to the amazing _frayedshoelace _on LiveJournal for actually beta-reading this (also LJ seemed not to like me when I sent her the story per pm, so she only beta'd the first part)! Enjoy a pretty chapter now :D_

Сбор всей семьи - "Family reunion" (Russian)

Word count : 1472

* * *

It was cold around this time of the year. Very cold. Cold enough to remind him of the country where he was born. The streets were empty, almost nobody dared to come out of their house, so why would they be walking through the city? He didn't particularly mind, because most humans were a nuisance anyway.

He put his hand against the glass surface of the door, pushed it open although the sign clearly read 'closed', and walked in. It was warm, typical of his sister not to let the flowers whither. Someone else walked into the room.

"Excuse me, but the shop is not open..." The speakertrailed off. The shop was closed, but that didn't mean that family wasn't allowed to enter.

"Toris, it has been a very long time."

The man gulped.

"I have come to see my sister, I hope you don't mind getting her for me?" he smiled.

"Yes... I mean, no, of course not... I mean, I'm going to–"

"Please, Toris, no need to be so formal. We know each other for long enough, yes?"

Toris hurried away into the back shop without further comment, leaving the man alone, smiling. He turned around and looked at the array of flowers. She did always take care of them and make them beautiful and perfect; it was of great importance to her. He reached out to touch a sunflower, but before his fingers could brush against the large petals, he drew back as ifthey had hurt him. They were fragile and so warm...

"Brother?" asked someone softly from behind him. He turned around to face her, and his smile turned into a frown.

"Where's Kai?"

"Right here, man." Another man said, coming into the room just at that moment. "Thought I wouldn't have to stay right next to her, since you're here."

The man kept on frowning, his eyes getting a little darker. "How could you have known it was going to be me if you didn't see me before? You have been very careless, Kai. Protect my sister. That is all that I have ever demanded you do."

"Y'know, when Toris comes down all trembling it's usually you. He never reacts like that with anyone else, even your other sister. And shit if she's not a lot scarier than you are."

"Natalya is a good person, Kai. Please, I think Ivan wanted to tell me something..." His sister hardly ever interrupted a conversation, but if the way she was looking at him was anything to go by, it was more of a '_leave as long as you have the time to_' than a '_go away, you're annoying_'. Iryna was not like that, but always caring and gentle.

"Gotcha, I'll stay downstairs, with Toris. Maybe he'll agree to have a game of poker with me this time... though he'll probably lose!" Kai walked away, down the stairs, laughing loudly. The two remaining people in the room waited for him to be out of range of sight and hearing, before the taller of the two finally spoke up, "His boss sure has been rubbing off on him, don't you think, sister?"

Iryna chuckled. "Gilbert has always been particular, but he is nice." She looked at her brother for a few moments, then extended her arms and pressed him closer to herself. "It's been a long time, Ivan. I missed you so much..."

"I missed you too." He held her tightly, but she barely noticed, already used to his tight embraces. "But unfortunately, I have come bearing bad news. I wish I didn't have to come to see you just for these announcements." He stared at her, expression grave and eyes serious. "Iryna, do you feel safe?"

She smiled. "With Kai here I have nothing to fear."

"But he can't protect you at all times!" Ivan looked slightly panicked, she noticed. "I don't want anything to happen to you. What would I do otherwise? There aren't enough of us, and we don't really know them. We can't face them now!"

"Ivan." She used her '_I'm your big sister and I won't lie to you, okay?_', voice. It always worked with him. "I told you... I _will_ be all right."

He looked away, mumbling something.

"Ivan, please. The more you will try to protect me-"

"The more they'll notice you. I know…"

"You worry too much, Ivan," she whispered, smiling warmly at him. She rubbed her face against his shoulder, then looked up again. "Especially about me." Blue eyes locked with worried dark purple; then she pinched his nose. "Stop thinking I can't take care of myself. After all, I did raise you and Natalya pretty much by myself, didn't I?"

He smiled again. "You did."

They stood there in silence, until Iryna broke it. "So. You came with bad news? I wish I could associate your visits for something else than deaths and tragedies. You deserve better than that, Ivan."

He remained silent. How would he tell her without hurting her or making her cry? His sister had been a crybaby back in those years, but she'd managed to get it under control recently and he hated to see her cry. Mostly because Iryna hadn't done anything to deserve anything worth crying over.

"They are getting ready. History is going to repeat itself."

"You mean..." Oh no, she was close to tears. He could hear it.

"Yes. The heat wave is getting closer and closer."

She sniffed, her embrace around him tightening as he buried his head in the crook of her neck. He whispered his last words. "And it will be very violent..."

(- -)

"Sorry, Toris." Kai laid his cards out. "Full house! Too bad for you!"

Toris smiled. "I seem not to be able to get used to this..."

"To what, losing?" Toris laughed.

"No, no, I mean to poker. When I play a game with my friend, I usually am the one who loses."

"Feliks, huh? Well, he's got a strange way of winning, too, you gotta admit that. Maybe if you had more self-confidence, you'd win more often?"

"I don't think assurance has anything to do with that."

"I think you underestimate yourself terribly, little guy." He wondered why _he_ was always called little, young or small, though technically, they were the same age and almost the same hight. "Look at Gilbert, he's never doubted his abilities and look what he's become!"

"Gilbert is a special case," the Lithuanian answered, smiling calmly. "I don't think you can use him as a reference for something like this."

Kai laughed loudly. "Maybe, but he's made something out of his life, at least. You should also think about that, Toris." he winked at him. "I mean, that Ivan's sister, didn't you think she was cute a few years back? You should really think about getting laid, man. I'm sure the ladies would all be swooning over you!"

_If only he knew_, Toris thought, blushing. "Natalya does not have any interest in me." He replied, his voice just the slightest bit nervous, but the Dane seemed not to notice it.

"Oh, she told you off?" _She had threatened him with a knife and he had ended up bruised at places he didn't remember her touching, so she had been quite persuasive, yes._

"Kind of..." He took the cards sprawled all over the table and started to tuck them into the box.

"Oh, come on, Toris! There has to be _someone_ you're having your eye on, right?"

Maybe there was. Actually, Toris didn't really know himself. There was Svenja, that very pretty and sweet girl with the overprotective brother he had gotten to talk to a few times ; Erzsébet, the rose with thorns, as some liked to call her ; Serena, the always happy island girl ; Iryna, and of course, Natalya...

And, uh, yes. Feliks too.

Feliks, who'd helped him out when he had nowhere to go.

Feliks, who'd almost been killed on their first encounter.

It really was a strange thing that fate had decided to throw him into that day. He still had no idea why he had helped him out, in the end... Not like it mattered. It was over ; their lives had changed.

"So?" The voice startled him. "What about it? Any cute girls in sight?"

"What? No! … I mean, why would you care? Don't... I could, I just don't, at the moment, feel like-"

"I get it, you don't want to talk about it. Geez, you should really think about finding someone, though : you're getting old."

"… We are the same age."

"So what? I would have no difficulties finding anyone, if I wanted to- Hey! What are you laughing at?"

"Nothing." Toris said, smiling, and hiding his straight flush in the box with the other cards.

* * *

_Mass introductions :_

_Ivan Braginski [26] is a very over-protective little brother, whom I'd like to keep a bit secret for the moment since it would reveal too much of the plot at once otherwise :)_

_Iryna Braginskaya [27] owns a flower shop in Burchee where she has two 1/2 employees : Toris, Kai, and sometimes Yong Soo when he's not being too busy. She's kind and wants to help people out whenever she can, which causes her brother to worry a lot about her._

_Toris Lorinaitis [28] Is a man whose past isn't known by anyone but Feliks, Ivan, and Natalya, who he's (been?) in love with. He works at Iryna's flower shop because it's one of the only places where he actually _did_ find a job._

_Kai Petersen [28] is my fan-made name for Denmark (I tend not to take the fannon names because it makes me think the names I chose are more unique). Kai was born in Denmark and encountered some troubles with the law. Ivan got him out of this, brought him to Burchee, helped him to find a job, all this on the condition of protecting his elder sister. He's one of the only ones Ivan remotely trusts._

Also, please forgive me for I know nothing about poker except for 1 : you play with cards and, 2 : you have to, somehow, win. Yeah, I suck. But if I trust my researches, a straight flush wins over a full house. If it's even possible to have those two in one single party. Again, I know nothing about it.


End file.
